Before
by bekka-lewellyn
Summary: A prequel of Dark Mirror. The lives of Anfreda, Broichan, Uist, Fola, Maelchon, Talorgen, Aniel, King Drust and Dreseida before Dark Mirror, how they came to be the people they are, and how Dark Mirror came to occur. Not necessary to have read Dark Mirror
1. Chapter 1

**BEFORE**

_Prologue_

The Vale of the Fallen. As the dark of the moon approached, the animals and the fauna of the sparse area disappeared.

Perhaps they saw what was coming.

Slowly it filled with the dregs of the rebellion. This was the last stand. The final rebellion by the warriors still standing, for a war that was already lost.

Dalraidans had conquered the west.

That night, and the day that followed it, they conquered the Vale of the Fallen.

When the last foreigner was gone, the Vale began the next war. A silent army of widows, sons and brothers arrived at the desolate battlefield, to walk up and down the field in search of loved ones. A pyre was lit, to burn the enemy's corpses. The remains were carried home for proper burial. And after they were gone, three bodies remained, and three children. On opposite sides of the field, three children who had never encountered each other before, shared in the knowledge that there was nothing left.

The violent tide of religion's war had swept through the Vale. And the thrust of an unknown enemy's sword had stolen their only family. Their home. Their future.

* * *


	2. The Beginning of Before

**BEFORE**

_Chapter One: The Beginning of Before_

The sun was high in the sky above the clearing where the four young adults took advantage of the rare fine weather. A tiny, but strong boned girl wrestled with a tall graceful boy by the creek side. The girl, Fola, wrestled to prove herself. Uist, the charming boy, did so because of the excuse to be close to her. They were the picture of young love, oblivious of the two that stood in the shallow creek, piling stones to make a waterfall. The tall male was self-contained, enigmatic and serious. The girl, by contrast, exuded happiness, joy and excitement. Her light brown curls bounced as she leapt from stone to stone. Her blue eyes danced as she attempted to surprise her friend into an undignified reaction. The water she splashed at him stopped midair and fell back to trickle through the creek. Broichan turned slowly, his mouth twitching at the corners, the closest this superbly unattached adolescent came to a smile. She paid no attention to the water droplets' unnatural descent. When she first met this unusual trio, the actions of various inanimate objects had taken her by surprise. Now, she took it in her stride. Anfreda looked quickly away from the dark eyes that evaluated her. After all these years of joining these three on the rare outings, she still did not know the thoughts that ran behind those intelligent, penetrating eyes.

Perhaps it was his upbringing that made him so, for the old druid who was Broichan's foster father had the same evaluating eyes, the same considered manner. But that could not be so, for Fola and Uist were raised by the same man, and both wore their feelings on their faces like a badge of pride. Broichan saw the small frown appear on her face, and wondered at its cause.

But as always, the frown dissipated after no time at all and the familiar cheerful smile spread across Anfreda's face, her eyes twinkling as she planned her next attack.

Recognizing the spark, Broichan distracted her.

"Do you remember the seven descendants of the Priteni?" One eyebrow lifted over dark eyes in inquiry. Anfreda closed her eyes and the small frown reappeared.

"Fortrenn, Faitland, Fidach, Fib, Caitt, Circinn, Ce." She recited proudly, looking to her teacher for approval. Not often would he express any kind of congratulations, but she had learned to see a small nod of the head, a faint look in the eyes, that said that he was impressed.

As a girl of distant royal bloodline, Anfreda's future was set; she was to marry well, and no more. Her only source of education outside of embroidery and singing were the tidbits that Broichan imparted on her.

She listened eagerly that day as Broichan told her of the other countries that surrounded them, the allegiances that existed and the religions that separated the lands.

Fola and Uist contributed occasionally, but never for the sole purpose of contributing. Uist recited a long list of past kings of Gwynedd, to see if he could remain hanging by his feet from the tree while he did so. Fola demonstrated the languages of the surrounding countries; she counted to ten in a different tongue every time she pinned Uist.

Dusk arrived in the clearing, and they headed for home. At the junction where Anfreda turned off to reach Oak Ridge, she hugged each of the three goodbye and walked away. She had no idea when she would see them again.

When she looked back, she saw Broichan's tall form moving calmly down the road. Fola was trying to shove Uist into the forest, only for him to step back to allow her to fly past him. Anfreda giggled quietly and turned back towards home.

* * *

"Knight, E5." Calwyn's soft, deliberate voice was heard clearly through the quiet room. The only sounds were the cracks of the fire in the open hearth, the quiet strain as Uist and Fola both tried to dominate the arm wrestle, and the distant sounds of cleaning in the kitchen.

Broichan's answer was not a reply but a movement. After a considered pause, he moved an insignificant pawn one square forward on the chess board. No expression crossed the faces of either man. On the other side of the room, Fola finally forced Uist's arm to the table, holding it there as their eyes locked.

"Nice." Uist acknowledged with a grin, breaking the tension. He eased his arm from her grip and gently flexed his fingers.

"Again?" Fola asked, rarely one to gloat, but never one to back down. Uist's changing eyes twinkled.

"Thumb war." He challenged.

The control on Broichan's face cracked as his mouth twitched at the corners. He looked up to see a similar break in concentration on Calwyn's own.

Their attention returned to the board as the familiar chanting began on the other side of the room.

"One, two, three, four…"

By the time the flickers of flame had burned down to embers, Calwyn had Broichan in checkmate. They silently packed up the playing board for tomorrow's game. Fola and Uist, encouraged by the immaturity brought on by the thumb war, had moved on to slaps and chase. Broichan narrowly dodged as Fola's tiny form darted through the room, and was brought to the ground by Uist's flying tackle. Their laugher was blockaded by a loud rasping cough. Fola and Uist passed it off as a throat clearing, a winter flu. The cough was quickly suppressed, the calm demeanor returned. But Calwyn knew from Broichan's flash of concern that he had noticed. Perhaps even acknowledged the importance of such a minor occurrence.

When the embers died out, and the moon was high in the sky, two people slept peacefully, no worry to impose on their rest. One, an old man who was only just beginning to realize his age, slept fitfully. His sleep was interrupted by coughing fits, and his breath failed to come easily. And Broichan slept not at all. His ears heard every rasp of breath, every cough through the thin walls.

His imagination produced scenario's that kept him from sleep as surely as if somebody had constructed a barrier. Because for all the seventeen years that Broichan had been alive, Calwyn had never once been sick.

* * *

Anfreda tried to fill the room with chatter, if only to block out the frozen silence that had formed between her parents. Her dad, who normally listened intently to her tales, was silent and brooding tonight. Her mother, who ordinarily took no notice, hung on every word. Both nearly strained muscles trying to avoid eye contact. Anfreda did her best to join them both in conversation, but failed to succeed. Finally, the three of them fell into a brooding silence as they went through the motions of a normal dinner. When Anfreda finished off the last of her chocolate desert, she cast a furtive glance at her mother. When she was sure that the observant eyes weren't on her table manners, she scooped up the remaining sauce on her finger as she had done as a child.

"Annie, you shouldn't do that at your age." Scolded her mild tempered dad. "It's bad manners."

Anfreda stared at him. He had never mentioned manners to her before; he left that to his wife. What's more, her mother had missed an opportunity to lecture her on manners befitting the status of the Priteni blood.

Anfreda tossed her cutlery on the plate and the sudden noise broke the tension between her parents, startling them into looking up at the same time.

"Right! _What _is going on?"

Both tried to speak at once.

"Nothing dear." Her mother insisted, her eyes wide.

"Nothing Annie." Her dad said, his eyes determinedly on his plate once more.

"No, really, tell me what's going on?"

Both parents remained silent. Her dad's eyes were so focused on his plate that the fate of the world surely relied upon it.

"Stand up!" Anfreda ordered suddenly. Surprised, they both did so. She pushed them both into the sitting room, leaving their untouched deserts behind. Her parents sat next to each other and avoided Anfreda's eyes like guilty children.

"Please tell me what happened?" Anfreda asked. Her mother stumblingly began the tale. When it was done, Anfreda sat down heavily across from them.

"You're sending me to court?" She asked incredulously.

"You are of royal blood." Her mother defended. "You have to make a good marriage."

"It's too early!" Her dad argued. "She's only just sixteen!"

"I don't understand." Anfreda said softly. "Why now?"

"It won't be so bad." Her mother said. "They'll protect you there. Provide for you. And when you find a husband, he can do so. It's a small thing, but the gods know we struggle to provide it."

It was a very directed 'we' and the room fell silent. Anfreda glared at her mother. Her dad looked hurt. Before the war with the Dalraidan's he had been a royal stone sculptor. But after the loss of an arm from a Dalraidan's blade, he was restricted to small, insignificant works that earned little of the coin he'd had before. Never had anyone in the family mentioned this before.

"Mum that's not fair!" Anfreda growled, her stomach twisting at the look of desolation in her dad's eyes.

"No, she's right." Her dad said. His tone registered dull acceptance. Irony was thick in his voice as he stared at his wife, though he spoke to his daughter. It's better for you to be there. You're of royal blood. You deserve more.

"But, dad – "

"It's late. We'll leave after the festival." He said in a dull, monotonous tone.

"You'll go with me to court?" She asked hopefully.

He met his wife's eyes.

"I can, at least, do that." He said flatly, and disappeared from the room.

For the whole of Anfreda's life, her family had been a happy, comfortable one to live with. If they didn't have any pricy trimmings on their lifestyle, they nonetheless had all the essentials. Her mother brought Anfreda up as any girl of royal blood should be. Her dad worked to provide for them, and kept the household in order.

His peaceful gentleness had never failed to calm her. His tall imposing presence had never failed to make her feel safe. Protected.

Only tonight did she question that faith. Her mother forcing her to move to Caer Pridne was enough to upset her. But she hated her more for destroying that faith in her father,

Anfreda had never seen her dad in any mood that wasn't optimistic and cheerful. Until tonight. What Anfreda's mother had said tonight, and what had been said before she got home, had taken a toll on her dad.

That night, Anfreda struggled to sleep. Instead, her ears heard the heavy silence, the lack of her dad's snores. It was still silent when she finally fell into a fitful sleep.


	3. Departures and Arrivals

**BEFORE**

_Chapter Two: departures and arrivals_

Oak Ridge had never looked so fine as it did on this night. The spring sun set on a town just beginning to revel. Stalls were set up through the streets, bonfires were lit in the squares, and dancing gypsies, drama troupes and other entertainment spread throughout Oak Ridge. The village had taken on a festive mood in celebration of tonight, the harvest festival.

Four adolescents took advantage of what was on offer in an attempt to forget that tomorrow signified farewell. They ate enough food to sicken weaker stomachs than theirs. They clustered close to a drama troupe telling the comedic tale of a king and a jester through improvisation. They purchased small frivolities to serve as memoirs. They were relaxing under an overhanging tree when the bands began music in the squares.

Immediately, the gypsies, actors and general entertainment personale leapt to begin a simple progressive dance. Uist dragged Fola into the energetic bunch, grinning cheerfully and singing loudly.

"Dance?" Anfreda asked, turning her big blue eyes on Broichan. He was already shaking his head. She stood, and reached out a small hand.

"Please?" She asked. "For me?"

Broichan hesitated, then made the mistake of meeting her eyes. Seconds later, he was on his feet. Her hand led him into the fray.

When they reached the circle, he observed the dance for a cycle to pick up the steps, then awkwardly took Anfreda's arm. She looked up at him, her eyes bright and happy. Broichan rolled his eyes good naturedly. He felt uncomfortable dancing, when it was something he didn't commonly do. Anfreda was clearly having a fantastic time, laughing and smiling, despite his frequent dancing blunders. Her mood was infectious, and he found his mouth twitching at the sides as he passed her along the line and turned to catch his next partner. Fola ribbed him cheerfully for his unsuccessful dancing, and Broichan smiled and ignored her. By the time Anfreda spun into his arms once more, he had control, if not yet mastery of the steps. He managed to pass her on without doing anything to cause embarrassment. Even Fola failed to find anything to bag him for, so she simply ruffled his hair and moved on.

Broichan groaned as the band began a new song and the gypsies began to lead the steps of a new dance. Anfreda caught his eyes and grinned at him. He couldn't stop himself from smiling back.

"See? Not so bad at all, is it?" Anfreda asked over the music, the next time she made it to his side again.

"I can think of worse things." Broichan acknowledged reluctantly. He twirled her under one arm before leading her sideways, silently thanking his coordination for holding up so well.

"You can pick what we do next." She suggested.

"Now?"

"After the dance." Anfreda amended.

"How about pie? By the second stall when the song's over?"

"Done."

* * *

For the next few dongs, they relaxed under the tree, eating pie. They watched Fola and Uist dance. The progressive dances had temporarily concluded, but Fola and Uist continued to flit between partners, neither finding a lack in requests to dance. They were laughing and spinning, their faces flushed from the motion and from the heat of the fires.

"Leaving at sunup?" Broichan checked. Anfreda nodded silently. Her eyes shadowed for a moment. She met his gaze, then looked away.

"I'm not… I don't want this." She said sadly. Broichan felt for her. Her future was so inevitable. She had no choice.

"You knew it would happen one day." He pointed out quietly.

"But…" She trailed off. "I guess I know the husband and children thing has to happen, and I don't really mind. I just didn't realize until lately how much it's going to change everything else."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to have to leave home. I'll probably rarely see mother and dad. I won't have Fola and Uist and you… I'll be alone at Caer Pridne."

Broichan heard the impending loneliness in her voice already.

"But then you'll have your husband…"

"True… but it's not the same."

They sat in silence for a moment, Broichan saw a tall charming boy eye Anfreda and move in their direction. Feeling a twinge of sudden protectiveness, he glared at the stranger until he reluctantly changed direction.

"What do you want for your husband, Annie?" Broichan asked. Anfreda looked up, surprised to hear the name she hadn't heard since he had been over two feet taller than her.

Broichan waited patiently through a considered pause.

"Somebody who will want me to be happy. Somebody who is kind, generous, and caring. Someone intelligent who I can talk to."

"Not young, rich and handsome?" Broichan asked, proud of her response.

"It's not important." Anfreda pointed out. She considered for a moment.

"Though it wouldn't," she amended, "be unappreciated if he were that too."

She laughed the sound fitting into their surroundings.

They spent a few moments watching Fola and Uist. They were dancing together now, blatantly ignoring other requests. Fola's confident style matched Uist's elegant grace move for move.

"They're so perfect together." Anfreda marveled. Broichan nodded. It had always been that way, with the two of them. With Fola and Uist, everything just seemed so completely right.

"I might…" Broichan trailed off, thought some more and began again. "I want to go to Caer Pridne soon." He said softly. "I think that Calwyn wants…"

He stopped that thought. His suspicions were still only that.

"There's other reasons for me to be there. Maybe you won't be so alone."

"Really?" Anfreda asked, smiling hopefully.

"Maybe I can check out this kind generous potential husband who wants to make you happy. See if he measures up." Broichan suggested. Anfreda scowled.

"My parents are bad enough, I don't need you choosing my husband for me too." She growled.

"Small investigation." Broichan amended.

"No."

"Opinions and observations."

"No!"

"Observations from a distance and summarized rumours."

"Not getting better…"

"It'd be simpler all round if you introduce the guy and let me give him the third degree."

"Quickly getting worse!" Anfreda insisted.

"Just let me meet him?" Broichan asked. "Please?" Anfreda had very much become a little sister and he felt like an overprotective brother. He didn't want her tying herself to someone who didn't deserve her.

"Fine." She grumbled. "But no third degree."

"Done."

Fola and Uist arrived next to them, flushed and breathing hard.

"We've solved the Anfreda leaving thing, in case you were worried." Uist informed them. Broichan raised one eyebrow.

"We're going to adopt her." Fola announced. Anfreda giggled. Broichan's lips twitched.

"Get up here and dance with me, impending daughter!" Uist demanded, leading her back to the courtyard. Within minutes, the four of them were dancing once more.

* * *

As the sun began to lighten the edges of the sky, the four of them gathered on the east road out of Oak Ridge, Anfreda's dad waited a few paces down the road.

Anfreda hugged first Fola, the Uist.

"Who are we going to show off to now?" Uist complained, ruffling Anfreda's fair. Unable to handle the solemnity, he lifted her bodily and spun her in a circle, startling a laugh from her.

"We'll miss you Annie." He managed, and set her on her feet. Finally, she faced Broichan. A small frown creased her forehead as she tried to find something to say. Broichan had been her big brother, her teacher and her best friend for more years than she could remember. To imagine a future without him was impossible. He pulled her into a tight hug, a rare show of affection.

"I won't be too far behind you on that road." He whispered.

"I'll miss you." Anfreda whispered back.

Broichan pulled her tighter, then released her. Anfreda felt cold where his warmth had left her.

"I'll miss you too." He told her. Fola snorted.

"He will not." She debated. "He'll become a hermit. He'll eat and drink and study just like he did before you came along and made him live a bit."

"We taught him _nothing_ of the life of fun." Uist said sadly.

"We owe it all to you." Fola said solemnly, facing Anfreda.

Anfreda hid a smile. Fola and Uist simultaneously yelped in pain as a thorn bush behind them whipped out and grazed their arms. She looked at Broichan to see him unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

"He's too talented at that by far." Fola grumbled, rubbing her arm and glaring at Broichan. Anfreda giggled, and hugged each of them once more.

"Have fun!" Uist told Anfreda as she turned to leave.

"Don't forget us!" Fola called after her.

"Look after yourself!" Broichan called.

Anfreda turned and waved at them, before leaping gracefully onto the empty horse beside her father. Her tiny form was dwarfed by the large horse.

"Bye!" She yelled. She rode off into the distance with her dad, towards a future planned for her before birth.

"I did _not _just eat and drink and study." Broichan grumbled, as they made their way towards home.

"Yeah." Fola agreed. "Every now and then you deigned to breathe like the rest of us!"

"And I think I saw him sleep once." Uist joined in. Broichan groaned good-naturedly. The thorn bush shook threateningly.

"Okay, okay!" Uist said, his arms in the air in mock surrender.

* * *

The sunlight cast the shadows of three men onto the high bluestone wall that surrounded Caer Pridne. The first figure was spare and wiry, the maker of the shadow a man for whom food wasn't a high priority. His grey eyes sparkled with life and intelligence, somewhat in contrast to his neat, responsible clothing. As the king's closest advisor, he stood close to the side of his employer. King Drust of Wdrost, known as the Bull, stood confidently beside Aniel. His stance portrayed authority, despite his diminutive size in comparison to the men he stood by. Slightly behind him stood his ever-present bodyguard. This man's eyes were constantly moving, observing, evaluating. He stood tall, still and silent, an ominous presence to repel danger.

Three silhouettes appeared on the horizon, riding towards the castle. After what seemed an age, they dismounted before the greeting party.

King Maelchon of Gwynedd stepped forward to face the King of Fortiu. At this point, Drust the Bull's position slightly uphill seemed somewhat superfluous. Maelchon's imposing size dwarfed the man even despite the incline.

As the two kings exchanged courtesies, the horse and packs were ushered away by hostlers. Maelchon's companions were introduced; his bodyguard and a cousin from Powyrs. The bodyguard took on the same inconspicuous stance as the Bull's own protector. Rhian's upright, well-postured stance did little to help her measure up to Maelchon's height. Her slight, fragile figure was dwarfed even by King Drust.

The drawbridge began to open during the introductions.

"I think that could be a hint from my wallguards. Shall we?" Drust invited. He led the way into Caer Pridne.


	4. Allegiance

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that was invented by Juliet Marillier.

**BEFORE**

_Chapter Three: Allegiance_

Sweat glistened on the faces of the men. Sunlight shone from directly overhead, reminding all that summer was approaching. Drust the Bull stood back, evaluating. Later, Maelchon and Drust would begin the battle of wills to make allegiance between their lands. Until then, they would focus on other matters.

Drust watched as the foreign king andDrust's champion fighter squared off for a practice match. Maelchon stood tall, his imposing size a threat to any man. Talorgen stood almost as tall, and didn't appear threatened in the slightest. The two fighters were evenly matched. Both men were of imposing size and both were swift and light on their feet. The small crowd made the appropriate gasps and cheers as the mock fight began. Bets were made, and money passed around.

Aniel's observant eyes missed nothing of the match. A fight could show much about a man. Not simply about his fighting proficiency, but about his nature. Whether he was stubborn and persistent, or willing to back down. Whether he cared about his opponent's fate. How highly he valued a win, and what he was prepared to do to get it. Whether he could take losing well. Whether he could be a graceful winner. It told more than the simple sword parry that the onlookers saw.

After a long well fought battle, Maelchon knocked the sword from Talorgen's hand. The people in the crowd dissipated, alternatively groaning or celebrating at the result. Talorgen stood and shook Maelchon's hand. Maelchon offered Talorgen's sword to him. He accepted it with an appreciative nod to the foreign king.

This manly ritual done, the group moved towards the archery compound. Maelchon observed Aniel for a moment. He was well aware of the evaluation being made as he fought, and wondered only what conclusions were drawn. But without mentioning his examination, he stepped to Drust the Bull's side, and struck up a conversation.

At the archery compound, Maelchon, Talorgen, the two bodyguards and Drust lined up and made five consecutive shots each. As each took their turn, the others made the appropriate sounds of admiration and consolation.

When they moved to inspect the results and retrieve their arrows, Aniel and Rhian remained.

"Who is she?" Rhian asked, nodding her head to the edge of the training area. A formidable, elegant lady stood, observing with an analytical look in her eyes.

"That's the Lady Dreseida." Aniel said after glancing over. With true advisor form, no opinion touched his expression or voice.

"She's been watching since we arrived." Rhian said.

"Observant, aren't you?" Aniel asked, curious. She gave an enigmatic smile that only piqued Aniel's curiosity. She was a mystery, this one.

"I try to be." She said carefully. Her sharp eyes looked out over the courtyard.

"Looks like the king won this one." Aniel said. She nodded slowly, her mind clearly elsewhere. The men returned, diplomatically congratulating each other.

"It's getting late into afternoon," King Drust pointed out. "Perhaps we might return to prepare for tonight's feast?"

"Lead on," Maelchon said. As they moved away, Rhian eyed the targets and the bows. She waited until the group was some distance away before she gave in to her weakening restraint. It took her only moments to string a bow and choose five arrows. She stretched the bow a few times and aimed.

She didn't notice Drust glance back just in time to see her fire off five shots in quick succession. She didn't hear him gasp with surprise as all five settled into the dead centre of the target in a neat cluster, easily beating Drust's own earlier success. She smiled happily and replaced the bow on the rack. By the time she caught the group, Drust was facing forward once more, and Rhian was unaware of any such observance.

* * *

The dining hall was full. The six long dining tables were loaded up with the fifth course of an enormous feast. Ale and wine flowed freely and several couples stood to dance to the music a small band provided. Chatter and singing filled the room. 

Silence fell as King Drust stood up from his decorated throne. After a day of diplomatic entertainment, and three days of diplomatic discussions, meetings and negotiations with the foreign powers, the people knew that the following words could pronounce the future of these two lands. Tension grew as everybody stopped talking and awaited the words of their king.

"A toast!" He called. The hall rang with noise as everybody found a goblet or glass.

"To the Priteni, and to Gwynedd, and to peace between us!" He said loudly.

Drinks clinked all over the room, along with murmurs of cheers. Drust sat once more, and the noise resumed.

"Nicely done. Short, informative, attention-grabbing." Rhian murmured quietly at his side. She had moved to take the seat vacated by Maelchon moments before. Drust turned to face her. His gaze would have daunted a weaker person – the gaze of a man of authority.

"As nice as your shooting a few days ago?" He asked mildly.

She blushed, looking horrified.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean - "

"It's fine." Drust interrupted.

They fellsilent for a few moments as waiters filled their drinks and moved on.

"You are not what I expected, Rhian." He commented. She raised her eyebrows in inquiry.

"You're clearly more than a competent archer. You are extremely observant. You not only voice opinions, you voice intelligent, informed opinions. Even Aniel was impressed earlier. You are unique."

Rhian blushed and ducked her head modestly. Before her eyes disappeared under her painted eyelids, Drust noticed a tiny sparkle in her gaze.

"I'm sorry if I have offended - "

"You have not." Drust said, with diplomatic reassurance.

She finally looked up, and they exchanged a glance that was no longer an evaluating inspection, but more of a communication.

"I'm glad." Rhian said simply.

"Tell me. Do you think the Dalraidan's will stay away?" For the first time, Drust asked a question not for the evaluation available in an answer, but in actual interest. Rhian hesitated for a moment, and then spoke with passion in her voice.

"They won't. Their interpretation of their religion demands that it be the only religion, the only faith. They will invade."

Drust listened attentively to her words.

"And what can be done?" He asked.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"They will invade no matter what you do."

"So I must simply lose my land?"

"They don't want land. They want to spread their religion."

"What if we don't want it?"

"It's not a _bad_ religion. It's seemingly better than the old ways. Is it true that your religion involves ritualistic sacrifice?"

Rhians eyes lit with anger and passion, though she kept her voice carefully calm. Drust's eyes darkened with the shadow of memory.

"The old ways must be followed. The gods must be respected." Drust said, his voice bitter.

"No gods should require loss of life." Rhian muttered.

"Nonetheless," Drust said, taking a long gulp of ale, "they do."

* * *

At the other end of the table, Aniel rested his ale mug next to Talorgen's with a loud clunk. 

"Do you think those moves Maelchon taught the men could be pulled off in battle?" Aniel mused.

Talorgen didn't answer. Aniel looked over to see his friend's eyes locked somewhere else. Aniel followed Talorgen's gaze and saw Maelchon. On his way to speak with Talorgen, Dreseida had stopped him. Now she was using every charm she had to keep his attention. Maelchon looked perfectly happy with the situation. Talorgen did not.

"Yesterday, that was me." Talorgen muttered, gulping down the contents of his ale and gesturing to a servant for a refill.

Aniel eyed his friend dubiously.

"It's _Dreseida_. She will choose the richest, most advantageous marriage she possibly can. She wants power, not a man." His evaluation of the girl was true, if unflattering. And yet, for her, entirely achievable. She was beautiful, in a refined and immaculate way. She was well spoken, intelligent and competent.

"She deserves it. She deserves the best man she can find. I just wish…" Talorgen trailed off.

Aniel followed his friend's gaze once more. Then it clicked in his brain. He was not watching Dreseida snare another rich man. He was simply watching Dreseida.

"You wish you were that man?" Aniel guessed.

Talorgen said nothing.

"You love her?" Aniel asked.

Talorgen sighed heavily and nodded.

"There's a chance," Aniel said. He didn't quite understand why Talorgen would fall for Dreseida, but he wouldn't question his friend. "You're rich, powerful… She might want you."

Talorgen took a long gulp pf ale. His voice, when he spoke, was hollow.

"Why would she have a battle commander when she could have a king?"

* * *

At the throne, conversation has shifted from religion to a lighter topic. 

"You have thirteen siblings?" Drust asked incredulously. Rhian nodded, smiling.

"And mum has twelve siblings and dad has ten. All of them have children."

"Wow." Drust said, trying to imagine such a large family. He, in a tradition of monarchs, was an only child.

"That's partly why Maelchon asked if I wanted to come here. He knows my home is… hectic. I've been staying at his home for years. But if he left I would have had to go back to Powyrs. This was a far better option."

"I'm glad you came." Drust said softly. His hand touched hers lightly as he reached for his ale mug. She shivered slightly, and smiled.

"Do you dance, my king?" Rhian asked.

* * *

Much later that night, Talorgen, Maelchon and Aniel were in fine form. With the aid of copious amounts of ale, they were telling stories of battle, and women, and tales of their childhoods. The last bells had rung out hours before, and the hall had emptied. Only those three remained, as well as the waiters, who had invaded in hordes to begin cleaning. 

"Maybe it's time to retire." Aniel suggested. Maelchon nodded and stood. The other two men broke into loud chuckles as he stumbled and almost fell. A servant appeared at his side to lend a sturdy shoulder in support.

"Well, men," Maelchon said, his booming voice heard clearly on the other side of the hall as he slung an arm around the servant, "I like you. And I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

"I'll cheers to that." Talorgen agreed, and Aniel nodded. Another waiter appeared to accompany Aniel. Talorgen slumped on the table.

Instead of cheers, snores echoed across the room as Maelchon and Aniel stumbled their supported way back to their rooms.

Maelchon kept up a steady chatter to his walking aide as he stumbled to his quarters. He passed King Drust on the way and stopped to cheers once more with what was left of his ale.

He arrived at the door to his allocated quarters just as Rhian slipped inside the entrance, singing softly. He was too tired to inquire.

"Night cuz." He mumbled as he fell into bed. She stopped at their adjourning door.

"Sleep well, my drunken relative." She murmured.

"Mm."

"Sure."

He was asleep in seconds, joining Talorgen and Aniel in slumber. Rhian stayed up far longer, reminiscing. Maybe this King Drust was a good man after all. On the other side of the castle, Dreseida lay awake, planning. A perfect husband AND a backup. This was perfect. Life was perfect.

King Drust slept soundly in his top tower, getting in a few hours sleep before he woke early to be a king. But for tonight, for this night, he wasn't a king. He was a man.


End file.
